


510. This side of it

by SevlinRipley



Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Established Relationship, Flirting, M/M, Multi, Party, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: Prompt: "Fic prompt where Stanlon discovers they both also like Bill and invite him on a date. Both boys are all heart eyes and they fit together so well they ask Bill that same night if he’d like to be their boyfriend."





	510. This side of it

They'd met at a party. Bill had been pulling away from the center of the room, the dancing, the spill of laughter and sloshing of drinks, slowly but surely. There was a darker corner of the room that looked inviting, where few people stood off to the side, or sat in chairs pressed against the wall with its navy blue paint.

Mingling had never been one of Bill's skills. Although after his speech therapy (and during), he had been encouraged to embrace his newfound confidence. To take advantage of his ability to eloquently speak, and network. Build up friendships and partnerships alike. Thrust himself headfirst into the world of social economics. Publishers with book deals were just waiting around _a_ corner, apparently. Bill's therapist just wouldn't say _which_ corner. So he was being good, and diligent, by checking all of them.

In that particular corner, at that particular party, however, he didn't find a publisher, or an editor. But he did find a young man who got great deals on books for the library he worked at, who said he'd gladly put Bill's future work on display, especially for him. Which was sweet. And another young man about his age who wasn't, in the end, able to offer any help at all regarding Bill's career.

Both were easy on the eyes, and pleasant to talk to, so Bill wasn't going to mark the party as a total loss.

 

"Accounting?"

"Yeah; I know... It's boring." Stan was his name. And he'd said this in a very forced, almost self-deprecating manner. As though he'd heard it a thousand times from someone else's mouth, and started preemptively tacking it on whenever his occupation came up, just to avoid hearing it again. Mike, who was at his side, with a hand around his waist, leaning into him from the hip up, bit into his lower lip. Likely holding back an objection, because Stan was an adult and maybe, just maybe, this was how they gauged who was worthy of their time. Far be it from Mike to interrupt the screening process.

Swallowing back another sip of sparkling wine, Bill had felt his eyebrows stitch together just slightly before he'd said, "No. Not at all! I mean, I wouldn't be the optimal candidate for the job; numbers don't really agree with me. That doesn't make what you do boring, though. You've probably saved countless businesses from going under, right? Kept good, hard-working people from losing their jobs, and kept fat cats at least somewhat honest? It's actually _very_ interesting, what you do. Important, too."

"Oh," Stan had breathed out, one brow arching slightly as his eyes flickered over Bill's face, and then were cast aside to Mike. Mike, who was smiling with one corner of his mouth turned upward, and massaging the tips of his fingers into Stanley's shoulder. Bill read it as more of a reassurance than anything else. If it _was_ a way to test which people were worth speaking to, Bill was sure it came from a place of self-preservation than snobbery.

He, himself, was sensitive about the subject of: 'Isn't that quite a tough business to be successful in? Don't you think the world has enough books it already doesn't read?' Which, it must be noted, never even seemed to cross Stan or Mike's minds, when Bill introduced himself. And he felt a mutual gratitude blooming between them.

Maybe Mike was sensitive to something similar, too: 'So. You're a keeper of dusty old books that people check out, leave under their bed a couple weeks, and then return without reading? _And_ you get paid tax-payer dollars for it? _Neat_!' The internet had been made public when Bill was seven-years-old, and while the effect on paper books had not been immediate, it had diminished the need for libraries significantly. At least, in the eyes of much of the population. Students, mainly, who found it easier to do research from the computer.

"Well, thank you. I suppose so. Not single-handedly, of course, but my firm's one of the good ones. Plenty of crooked firms out there, too, though. Guess you can't just assume every accountant is worth as much as all that."

Bill smiled at the show of humility. See? He _knew_ it wasn't snobbery. "I guess that's true. You could also say my writing's not liable to be your cup of tea, until you actually read something of mine. I could be peddling bullshit as much as the next guy."

"We _might_ be forming a bias," Mike said jovially, tipping his drink toward Bill as if to say he'd charmed them, thus far, and here's to hoping the feeling was mutual.

 

Between the three of them, the room grew much smaller, yet the rest of the party further away. Bill found himself leaning against a nearby wall, relaxing into their conversation as they drifted to topics not completely based on employment and careers. He knew there had to be a balance. Keep things interesting and fun, but don't let them forget what you're after. It just... seemed such a waste to pretend he only wanted to talk to Stanley and Mike for business purposes. As important and impassioned as he was for his work, he found himself sparking at the idea of filling other holes in his life.

He never expected that they'd feel the same pull as he did. Not _just_ the same anyway. Bill liked to think he had a read on people, and that it was clear he'd go home with at least an email or a phone number, maybe a friendly lunch date somewhere down the line. That if he was lucky, would translate into game nights or movie nights. Phone calls just for the heck of it. To see how their mothers were doing. Things like that.

But as the party dimmed around them, and the three of them had found ways to cozy up, keeping the flow of conversation without any awkward breaks, or the need for excess wine, they felt a bit of a tear at walking away with just that. Just a vague idea of seeing each other again.

"Uh... Bill," Mike started, eyes darting to Stanley as he squeezed his hand between their outer thighs, "Me and Stan. We ... we have to talk for a moment. Would you excuse us?" Bill had, making them promise they'd say goodbye, at least, before they went. Stan had put a hand to his shoulder in assurance that they would before letting Mike pull him away, toward the host's restroom, he figured. And slumped down into his seat, already feeling himself missing their presence. Not just because it made him realize where he was, still, the night almost at an end, when he'd figured he'd be home asleep in bed by now. Not here, regretting that the time went by so quickly.

When they returned though, Stanley had a hint of redness in his cheeks, eyebrow angled down with the tightness of anxiousness tugging it there. He watched Stanley swallow, and looked to Mike, nervous and worried on Stanley's behalf. Mike smiled at him softly, and palmed Stanley's back, before thumbing at the side of his partner's waist. "Baby," he said soft, in question.

At that, Stanley nodded, then looked at Bill, resolute, and said, "This is more forward than we typically are, first of all. But... We were - well, we were wondering if maybe you might like to go out with us some time?"

A smile quickly bloomed over Bill's face as he was flooded with relief. Slightly bemused as to why that'd been so difficult for his new friend to work up to, until he started dissecting just that. His brow twitched as his smile faded in thought. Wondering how he might clarify without looking the fool if they'd meant precisely what he'd first thought they had. He cleared his throat, doing an exercise in his brain before speaking, lest his nerves get the better of him and unleash a stutter.

"Uhm... First, to answer your question: Yes, either way. But, you don't mean _just_ to have lunch, or dinner, or coffee, do you? That's what you were discussing, right?" He held his breath, shoulders stiff, and then Mike gave a firm nod, expression and body language lightening significantly. Stanley's too, since Bill led with an adamant yes.

Again that smile spread over him, full-body, even brighter than before, and he stood to meet them eye to eye. "Oh, well, then. Good. God, yes, I mean. That'd be just great."

"Hear that Mikey? 'God, yes.'" Stan said, smirking, eyes warm as he elbowed Mike's side, before dipping his face close to Bill's. Betraying goosebumps popped up along Bill's neck at the sudden proximity, and Stan's voice gone low, "If you say that about dinner and a movie, I'm not sure how long I can wait to find out what you say in bed."


End file.
